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v'/.\\ 


r 
THE 


YOUNG   SAILOR; 

OR, 

PERSEVERANCE  REWARDED; 

FOR 

LITTLE   BOYS  AND   LITTLE   GIRLS. 

BY 

MRS.   HUGHS, 

AUTHOR    OF    "GENEROSITY,"    ETC.,    ETC. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

LINDSAY   AND    BLAKISTON: 

1850. 


TEREOTYPED  BY  J.  FAGAN. 


PRINTED  BY  I.  ASHMEAD. 


(2) 


PREFACE 


"  We  were  at  the  wharf  to-day  with 
Uncle  John,  looking  at  the  ships,  and 
we  wished  for  you,  aunt,  that  you  might 
tell  us  one  of  your  pleasant  stories  about 
the  sailors." 

"  Well,  my  dears,  if  you  will  sit  down, 
I  will  tell  you  one  of  a  little  sailor  boy, 
who  by  virtue  won  friends,  and  by  per- 
severance became  a  distinguished  man." 

(i») 


THE  YOUNG   SAILOR. 

On  one  of  those  cold,  raw  days,  so  frequent 
in  England,  even  after  the  summer  is  pretty 
far  advanced,  an  elegant  travelling  equipage 
was  seen  wheeling  across  the  bleak  barren 
waste  called  Alaston  Moor,  in  the  northwestern 
extremity  of  the  island.  The  only  person  in 
the  inside  of  the  vehicle  was  a  lady,  who 
though  no  longer  to  be  called  young,  had  not 
yet  outlived  the  loveliness  which  nature  had 
originally  stamped  on  her  beautiful  face,  and 
as  she  kept  putting  her  head  out  of  the  car- 
riage window,  and  gazing  at  the  heath-clad 
hills,  at  the  foot  of  which  the  road  now  began 
to  wind,  a  tinge  of  tender  melancholy  gave 

(5) 


6  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

additional  interest  to  her  fine  expressive  coun- 
tenance. "Yes,  though  so  cold  and  dreary, 
I  love  you  still,  my  dear  native  hills ;"  she 
exclaimed,  with  a  burst  of  natural  feeling ; 
"and  would  not  exchange  your  rich  purple 
heather,  for  all  the  luxuriant  vines  that  clothe 
the  cloud-capped  mountains  I  have  so  lately 
left.  They  are  beautiful  and  grand,  but  you 
have  a  charm  which  makes  its  way  more  closely 
to  the  heart,  for  you  speak  of  home,  and  tell 
of  those  early  days  when  sorrow  was  unknown. 
I  left  you,  many  years  ago,  a  young  and  joyful 
bride,  with  the  anticipations  of  a  happy  future 
to  gladden  my  path,  and  the  hope  of  soon 
revisiting  you,  and  my  fondly  doating  parents ; 
but,  alas  !  I  now  return  with  a  widowed  heart, 
and  after  weeping  over  the  graves  of  husband 
and  children,  seek  the  scenes  of  my  early 
years,  though  they,  who  once  gave  charms  to 
the  spot,  are  no  longer  here  to  fold  me  in  their 
paternal    embrace.     Still,    however,   I    have 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  7 

duties  to  perform,  for  those  who,  till  lately, 
partook  of  their  benevolence,  are  now  left  to 
my  care ;  and  my  enjoyment  in  life  for  the 
future,  must  be  in  faithfully  discharging  the 
office  assigned  to  me."  Scarcely  had  she 
breathed  these  words,  (for  she  could  hardly  be 
said  to  speak  them,)  when  her  eye  was  caught 
by  a  very  young  boy,  evidently  not  above  eight 
years  old,  seated  on  the  sheltered  side  of  the 
hill,  with  a  sort  of  plaid  or  coarse  blanket 
rolled  about  him,  so  as  to  cover  all  but  his  eyes 
and  one  hand,  in  which  he  held  a  small  book, 
that  he  was  poring  over  with  such  earnestness 
as  to  be  wholly  unconscious  of  the  approach 
of  the  carriage.  Struck  with  the  novel  sight 
of  a  student  among  the  natives  of  these  wilds, 
the  lady  pulled  the  check-string,  and  the  horses 
were  immediately  stopped,  when  she  put  for- 
ward her  head  and  called  the  little  fellow  to 
come  to  her.  At  the  sound  of  her  voice,  the 
boy  raised  his  head  with  a  start,  and  threw 


8  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

the  plaid  back.  As  he  did  so,  he  discovered 
a  face  of  perfect  loveliness/ and  one  to  which 
we  utterly  despair  of  doing  justice.  Its  form 
was  of  the  finest  oval,  and  his  features  might 
have  been  moulded  for  a  sculptor  to  study,  so 
nice  were  their  proportions  and  so  delicate 
their  outlines.  His  large,  full,  and  beautifully 
formed  eyes,  were  of  that  clear  deep  gray  in 
which  is  generally  found  so  happy  a  union  of 
softness  and  spirit.  If  there  could  be  a  fault 
found  in  his  appearance,  it  was  in  the  almost 
whiteness  of  his  hair,  but  it  was  luxuriant  and 
wavy,  whilst  his  childish  age  gave  promise  of 
its  soon  acquiring  a  deeper  hue.  The  propor- 
tions of  his  body  were  in  harmony  with  those 
of  his  face,  and,  as  he  came  forward  obedient 
to  the  lady's  summons,  divested  of  his  coarse 
mantle,  she  acknowledged  to  herself,  that  in 
all  her  travels,  she  had  never  met  with  a  finer 
or  more  engaging  specimen  of  childish  beauty. 
"  What  are  you  studying  so  closely,  my  little 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  9 

man  ?"  she  asked  in  a  tone  of  kind  encourag- 
ing familiarity,  as  the  child  came  near  the 
carriage  door. 

"  I  am  trying  to  learn  to  read,  my  lady ;" 
replied  the  boy  respectfully,  and  in  an  exceed- 
ingly sweet  tone  of  voice. 

"  Trying  to  learn,"  repeated  the  gentle  tra- 
veller ;  "  you  surely  don't  expect  to  learn  with- 
out a  teacher?" 

"  Oh  no  !  my  lady,  I  've  had  a  teacher,  for 
Uncle  Andrew,  the  last  time  Jie  was  here, 
brought  me  this  Read-may-desy ;"  and  as  the 
boy  spoke  he  held  up  the  juvenile  school- 
book,  so  well  known  by  the  title  of  Reading 
made  easy;  "and  he  learned  me  my  a-b-abs, 
and  said  I  must  make  out  as  much  more  as  I 
could,  by  myself,  till  he  came  back." 

"And  when  will  that  be?" 

"  He  said  he  thought  he  would  be  back  in 
three  or  four  months,  for  he  's  a  pether,  and  he 
expected   his  pack  would  be  empty  by  that 


10  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

time,  and  he  would  be  on  his  way  to  Paisley 
to  get  it  filled  again." 

"And  how  much  have  you  learned?" 

"  I  can  tell  of,  and  too,  and  is,  and  in,  and 
all  the  words  that  have  only  two  letters,  with- 
out spelling  them,  and  most  of  them  that  have 
three !" 

"  Have  you  been  studying  all  the  morning 
as  closely  as  you  were  doing  just  now  ?" 

"  No,  my  lady ;  I  had  n't  time  to  do  that,  for 
my  step-mother  gave  me  a  task,  to  knit  forty 
pearl  of  daddy's  stocking,  but  I  worked  very 
hard  to  get  it  done,  and  have  been  at  my  book 
ever  since." 

"What  is  your  name,  my  little  fellow?" 
asked  the  lady,  in  a  tone  that  proved  her  to 
be  very  much  interested  in  her  new  acquaint- 
ance. 

"  My  name  is  William  Robson,  but  every- 
body calls  me  White-haired  Billy !" 

"Are   you   the   son  of  Thomas  Robson?" 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  11 

asked  the  stranger,  to  whom  early  reminis- 
cence seemed  to  occur. 

"  Yes,  my  lady,  daddy's  name  is  Tommy 
Kobson." 

"  And  who  is  this  uncle  Andrew  that  you 
speak  of?" 

"  Oh,  he's  not  my  right  own  uncle ;  he 's 
only  a  pether  that  always  sleeps  at  our  house 
when  he  comes  this  way,  and  he  told  me  to  call 
him  uncle,  and  I  like  to  do  it,  because  he 's  so 
good  to  me.  He  always  tells  me  about  the  far- 
off  places  he  has  been  at;  and  he  said,  if  I 
would  learn  to  read,  he  would  bring  me  books 
that  would  tell  me  a  great  deal  more  about 
them  than  he  could." 

"  Then  you  are  very  anxious  to  learn,  of 
course  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  my  lady,  I  would  rather  study  my 
book  than  eat  my  supper  when  I  go  home, 
however  hungry  I  may  be.  But  my  step- 
mother won't  let  me  look  into  a  book  when 


12  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

I  'm  at  home,  for  she  says  there  's  no  use  in 
it." 

"  How  long  is  it  since  you  lost  your  own 
mother  ?" 

"It's  a  long  while  since;  I  can  only  just 
remember  how  kind  she  was  to  me !"  and  as 
the  poor  little  fellow  spoke,  his  eyes  filled  with 
tears,  which  told  at  once  the  sad  change  he  had 
found  in  her  successor. 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  to  school,  William  ?" 
asked  the  lady,  kindly  seeking  to  turn  the 
current  of  the  child's  thoughts. 

"  Oh  yes,  my  lady,  I  would  rather  go  to 
school  than  ride  in  that  fine  coach,  or  wear 
such  fine  clothes  as  them  gentlemen  have  on ;" 
and  he  pointed  to  the  footmen  and  postilions, 
whilst  the  lady  smiled  at  his  artlessness  and 
simplicity.  "But,"  he  added  — and  as  he  did 
so,  his  countenance,  which  had  brightened  at 
the  thought  of  school,  changed  to  a  mournful 
expression  —  "that  can  never  be." 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  13 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  daddy  would  have  nobody  then  to 
take  care  of  the  sheep!" 

"  But  if  the  sheep  could  be  taken  care  of 
without  you,  are  you  sure  you  would  be  a  good, 
diligent  boy  at  school  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  replied  the  boy,  whilst  his  eyes 
again  sparkled,  and  his  whole  face  beamed 
with  delight  at  the  thought;  "I'm  sure  I 
would,  for  I  want  so  to  learn  to  read.  Uncle 
Andrew  says  if  I  could  read,  I  might  soon 
know  a  vast  deal  more  than  even  he  knows, 
and  that  would  be  a  great  deal,  for  oh,  how 
wise  he  is !  You  would  wonder  to  hear  the 
strange  things  he  has  told  me.  He  once  told 
me  something  that  I  can  hardly  believe,  but 
yet  everybody  says  that  Uncle  Andrew  was 
never  known  to  tell  a  lie !" 

"  And  pray  what  was  it  that  he  told  you  ?" 
asked  the  lady,  smiling  at  the  boy's  earnest- 
ness. 


14  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

"  Well  he  told  me,"  said  the  child  with  some 
little  hesitation;  "but  perhaps  he  was  only 
joking/'  he  continued,  as  if  anxious  to  soften 
any  apparent  imputation  on  his  friend's  vera- 
city —  u  he  said  there  were  some  folks  in  the 
world,  that  were  as  black  all  over  their  bodies, 
as  a  new  shoe  that  has  just  been  greased !" 
As  the  boy  uttered  these  words,  he  looked  up 
with  an  expression  of  apprehension  into  the 
face  of  his  hearer,  as  if  fearful  that  he  had,  by 
so  strange  a  tale,  injured  Uncle  Andrew  in  her 
good  opinion. 

"  Well  you  may  keep  yourself  easy,  Wil- 
liam," returned  the  stranger  with  a  gentle 
laugh,  "about  the  truth  of  Uncle  Andrew's 
information,  for  I  can  assure  you  that  he  told 
you  nothing  but  what  is  strictly  true." 

"  Oh  how  I  would  like  to  read  about  all  such 
things,"  said  the  child  in  a  tone  of  earnest 
wishfulness. 

"  I  will  see  to  that,  my  little  man.    So  earn- 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  15 

est  a  desire  for  information  shall  not  be  left 
without  the  means  of  gratifying  itself.  Tell 
your  father,  when  you  go  home  at  night,  that 
'  the  Lady  of  the  Bower '  wishes  him  to  come 
up  as  soon  as  possible  to  speak  to  her." 

"  The  Lady  of  the  Bower !"  repeated  the 
boy  in  extreme  surprise. 

"Yes,  did  you  ever  hear  of  her?" 

"I  have  heard  of  the  old  'Lady  of  the 
Bower,'  that  was  good  to  everybody,  but  the 
young  one,  they  say,  is  far  off  in  foreign  coun- 
tries." 

"  She  was ;  but  she  is  now  here,  and  it  is 
she  that  has  been  talking  to  you  so  long.  You 
appear  to  be  a  good  boy  and  anxious  to  improve 
yourself,  and  if  I  find  you  are  really  so,  you 
may  depend  on  having  a  kind  friend  in  me." 
So  saying  the  lady  gave  orders  to  her  servants 
to  drive  on,  and  her  equipage  was  soon  out  of 
sight. 


16  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

We  flatter  ourselves  that  the  specimen  we 
have  now  given  of  our  little  hero,  has  been 
sufficient  to  excite  an  interest  in  his  future 
history  in  the  minds  of  our  young  readers, 
though  the  limits  assigned  to  us  will  not  allow 
us  to  be  very  minute  in  our  details  of  his  pro- 
ceedings, during  the  three  years  succeeding  the 
return  of  i  the  Lady  of  the  Bower '  to  the  home 
of  her  youth,  which  introduced  William  to 
her  knowledge,  and  brought  him  forward  as 
the  object  of  her  especial  care  and  attention. 
The  first  moment  she  saw  him,  she  discovered 
strong  marks  of  superior  talents,  as  well  as 
the  most  amiable  dispositions,  and  she  imme- 
diately determined  to  foster  the  buds  which 
were  opening  so  fair: 

"  Though  poverty's  cold  winds  and  piercing  rains 
Beat  keen  and  heavy  on  his  tender  years.'" 

Arrangements  were  soon  made  for  William 
to  go  to  the  nearest  school,  which  offered  any 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  17 

chance  of  his  benefiting  by  the  instruction  he 
would  receive  there.  It  would  have  been  a 
pleasure  to  his  benevolent  patroness,  to  send 
him  at  once  to  a  higher  seminary,  as  a  boarder, 
but  she  was  deterred  by  the  fear  that  so  sud- 
den a  transition  might  have  an  unfavourable 
effect  upon  his  mind,  and  loosen  those  cords  of 
filial  affection,  which  ought  ever  to  be  held 
sacred,  and  engender  feelings  of  pride  and  self- 
consequence,  at  finding  himself  raised  so  far 
above  the  rest  of  his  family.  She  satisfied 
herself,  therefore,  with  having  him  frequently 
at  the  hall  during  his  hours  of  leisure,  and 
keeping  a  constant  superintendence  over  him, 
and  watching  the  progress  he  made  in  his  stu- 
dies. This  she  found  to  be  far  beyond  her 
most  sanguine  expectations.  His  whole  soul 
seemed  to  be  engrossed  with  a  love  of  learning, 
and  of  gaining  a  knowledge  of  the  distant 
wonders,  the  description  of  which  had  so  often 
entranced  his  young  mind.  We  say  that  it 
2 


18  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

engrossed  his  whole  soul ;  but  we  would  not 
be  misunderstood  that  it  did  so,  to  the  exclu- 
sion of  the  still  more  valuable  affections  of  the 
heart.  Poor  William  had  hitherto  had  little 
around  him  calculated  to  fan  the  pure  and  holy 
flame  of  domestic  love  ;  for  his  father,  though 
disposed  to  be  a  kind  parent,  was  afraid  to  tes- 
tify much  tenderness  towards  his  eldest  child, 
as  every  exhibition  of  the  kind  was  sure  to 
excite  the  jealousy  of  his  termagant  wife,  who 
never  failed  to  revenge  it  upon  the  unoffending 
boy.  Such  behaviour  in  the  mother,  could 
hardly  fail  to  produce  corresponding  conduct 
in  the  offspring,  and  consequently  each  child 
as  it  grew  up,  learned  to  treat  the  amiable  and 
affectionate  William  as  an  enemy  instead  of  a 
brother.  Each  one,  however,  whilst  in  a  state 
of  infancy,  was  an  object  of  that  brother's 
tenderness,  and  served  to  keep  the  power  of 
loving  still  alive  in  his  gentle  bosom.  And 
happy  was  it  for  him  that  such  was  the  case, 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  19 

for  the  drudgery  of  nursing  the  infants  was 
always  his  portion,  and  would  have  been  a 
most  irksome  one,  had  not  affect  ion  sweetened 
the  cup  and  changed  the  toil  into  a  labour  of 
love.  Then  too,  Uncle  Andrew,  with  his  angel 
visits,  called  forth  all  the  best  feelings  of  the 
young  boy's  heart,  at  the  same  time  that  he 
incited  him  to  mental  improvement,  and  im- 
pressed upon  his  mind  the  principles  of  truth 
and  virtue.  But  the  appearance  of  this  kind 
friend  was  both  infrequent  and  uncertain,  and 
William  was  often  left  without  a  single  object 
to  be  kind  to  except  his  dog,  or  an  occasional 
stray  lamb ;  till  "  the  Lady  of  the  Bower " 
came,  and,  by  her  kind  encouraging  care,  called 
forth  all  the  finest  feelings  of  his  nature.  Un- 
der her  guidance  and  protection,  William's  life, 
which  had  hitherto  been  spent  amidst  the 
clouds  and  storms  of  domestic  dissension,  was 
converted  into  a  soft  and  balmy  sunshine  ;  for 
even  his  cruel  stepmother  was  awed  into  treat- 


20  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

ing  hiin  with  gentleness,  from  her  fear  of  "  the 
Lady  of  the  Bower/'  under  whom  they  held 
their  farm. 

In  this  manner  three  years  passed  over  the 
head  of  our  little  hero,  and  converted  him  into 
a  tall,  intelligent  boy  of  eleven  years  old.  His 
personal  appearance  had  been  rather  improved 
than  injured  by  the  advance  of  }7ears,  espe- 
cially as  his  hair,  under  the  care  of  his  patron- 
ess, had  now  become  a  beautiful  auburn,  whilst 
the  countenance  which  had  before  only  spoken 
of  amiability  and  gentleness,  now  beamed  with 
intelligence,  ardour,  and  spirit.  His  fondness 
for  reading  had  not  only  been  indulged,  but 
judiciously  directed,  and  his  eagerness  to  make 
himself  acquainted  with  foreign  parts  gratified 
by  a  selection  of  the  best  books  of  travel.  All, 
however,  that  he  read  only  served  to  feed  one 
predominant  passion,  which  had  held  its  sway 
over  his  breast  "from  the  first  dawn  of 
thought,"  —  that  of  being  himself  a  witness  of 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  21 

the  wonders  that  had  taken  so  strong  a  hold 
of  his  imagination. 

But  a  shadow  now  came  over  our  young 
friend's  happy  life,  and  proved  to  him,  even  at 
that  early  period,  that  our  course  through  this 
world  is  a  chequered  path,  made  up  of  lights 
and  shades,  and  that  the  brightest  sunshine  is 
often  succeeded  by  the  darkest  clouds.  The 
first  interruption  to  his  happiness  arose  from 
the  evident  decline  of  the  health  of  his  amia- 
ble j)atroness,  which  obliged  her  to  seek  a  more 
genial  climate  than  that  of  the  bleak  hills  and 
barren  moors  of  her  native  country.  On  leav- 
ing, she  promised  the  almost  inconsolable  boy, 
that  as  soon  as  she  returned  from  Portugal, 
whither  she  was  going  to  spend  the  winter, 
and  had  fixed  upon  a  place  of  residence  in  the 
southern  part  of  England,  she  would  send  for 
him  to  join  her  there.  In  the  mean  time  she 
left  directions  with  his  father  for  his  regular 
attendance  at  school,  the  expenses  of  which 


22  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

her  steward  would  defray,  and  would  also  sup- 
ply him  with  all  the  clothes,  books,  and  other 
useful  articles  that  he  might  require.  The 
parting  between  her  and  her  little  protege  was 
a  truly  affecting  one  ;  for  William,  who  seemed 
to  forebode  some  coming  evil,  though  he  tried 
to  control  his  feelings,  was  unable  to  repress 
the  swelling  of  his  heart,  at  the  thought  that 
he  was  perhaps  bidding  farewell  for  ever  to  one 
of  the  best  and  kindest  of  friends. 

This  bitter  trial  was  shortly  after  suc- 
ceeded by  another,  which  produced  still  more 
disastrous  consequences  to  the  poor  boy ;  for 
his  father  was  accidentally  killed  by  the  falling 
of  an  old  building,  and  his  destitute  family 
was  all  at  once  left  to  depend  upon  the  efforts 
of  his  widow  alone.  It  may  easily  be  imagined 
that,  under  these  circumstances,  all  that  she 
had  to  do  for  William  was  considered  a  hard- 
ship ;  and,  as  the  steward  who  had  been  left 
by  the  Lady  of  the  Bower,  had  always  been 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  23 

jealous  of  the  boy  for  having  met  with  so 
much  more  favour  than  his  own  children,  that 
in  his  eyes  were  quite  as  deserving,  refused  to 
extend  any  further  indulgence  than  was  con- 
tained in  his  instructions,  poor  William  soon 
began  to  find  his  situation  most  distressing. 
One  of  the  first  things  that  the  stepmother  did 
was  to  dismiss  the  boy  that  had  been  engaged 
to  tend  the  sheep  in  William's  stead,  and  to 
oblige  him  to  resume  his  old  employment. 
This,  however,  would  have  been  cheerfully 
submitted  to  by  the  poor  boy,  had  he  been  per- 
mitted to  make  his  books  his  companions ;  but 
this  was  positively  prohibited,  and  a  long  task 
of  knitting  imposed  upon  him  instead.  Nor 
was  this  all.  When  night  came,  and  the  sheep 
were  all  safely  shut  up  in  the  fold,  and  William 
hoped  he  might  indulge  himself  with  reading, 
he  was,  instead,  set  to  card  wool,  and  was  so 
vigilantly  watched  at  the  employment  that  he 
had   not  a  moment  to  himself.     Sometimes, 


24  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

after  a  day's  exposure  to  the  cold  air,  the 
warmth  of  the  fire  would  produce  an  irresist- 
ible drowsiness,  but  if  the  poor  little  fellow 
lost,  for  a  moment,  the  recollection  of  his 
troubles  in  the  sweet  oblivion  of  sleep,  a  severe 
blow  on  his  head  soon  restored  him  to  con- 
sciousness, whilst  the  discordant  voice  of  his 
stepmother  rang  in  his  ear  as  she  exclaimed, 
"  Now,  may  be  you  will  keep  awake  !  There 
would  be  no  sleeping  if  you  were  at  your  use- 
less books,  but  I  wonder  if  they  would  feed 
you.  Them  that  want  to  eat  must  be  willing 
to  work.  I  '11  make  you  sure,  I  'm  not  going 
to  feed  an  idle  fine  gentleman."  William  wrote 
several  letters  to  his  patroness,  begging  to  be 
permitted  to  come  to  her ;  but  he  had  no  other 
means  of  sending  them,  except  through  the 
steward ;  but  no  intimation  of  their  having 
reached  their  destination  ever  arrived  to  relieve 
the  poor  boy's  sufferings.  Even  Uncle  Andrew 
had  ceased  his  usual  visits,  for  the  excellent 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  25 

old  man  had  now  become  incapable  of  travel- 
ling, and  poor  William  had  no  hope  but  that 
which  the  approach  of  spring  gave  him  of  the 
return  of  his  patroness. 

Spring,  however,  is  often  long  of  appearing, 
even  after  it  has  assumed  the  name  ;  and  Wil- 
liam's cruel  and  tyrannical  stepmother  became 
every  day  more  severe  in  her  afflictions.  The 
poor  boy  tried  earnestly  to  bear  with  patience 
the  hardships  she  imposed  upon  him ;  but  hope 
deferred,  we  are  told,  maketh  the  heart  sick, 
and  he  had  looked  so  long  for  the  appearance 
of  the  only  person  from  whom  he  could  expect 
relief,  that  he  at  length  came  to  the  resolution 
of  leaving  his  home  unknown  to  any  one,  and 
making  his  way,  as  he  best  could,  to  New- 
castle, where  he  had  often  heard  that  vessels 
from  various  parts  of  the  world  are  always  to 
be  found.  He  had  no  doubt  of  meeting  with 
a  ship  bound  for  Lisbon,  and  was  equally  satis- 
fied that  it  would  not  be  a  difficult  thing  to 


26  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

prevail  upon  the  captain  to  give  him  a  passage 
for  the  services  he  could  render ;  for  though 
young,  he  was  strong  and  active,  and  as  for 
willingness,  no  one,  he  was  sure,  would  excel 
him  in  that.  If  once  at  Lisbon,  he  could  not 
believe  he  would  have  any  difficulty  in  finding 
the  Lady  of  the  Bower,  for  he  would  seek  out 
the  largest  and  grandest  house,  and  that  would 
be  sure  to  be  hers.  My  young  readers  who 
have  been  accustomed  to  large  cities  will  won- 
der at  William's  imagining  he  could  so  easily 
find  out  his  patroness  in  such  a  place  as  Lis- 
bon, but  they  must  consider  that  we  can  only 
form  an  opinion  of  a  thing  by  comparing  it 
with  another,  and  as  the  little  fellow  had  never 
seen  anything  beyond  the  bleak  moor  on  which 
he  lived,  on  the  borders  of  which' were  scat- 
tered a  few  poor  hovels,  he  naturally  imagined 
that  the  Hall  of  the  Bower  was  a  magnificent 
building,  and  that  a  similar  one  would  easily 
be  distinguished  from  those  surrounding  it.    It 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  27 

is  true  lie  had  read  books  of  travels,  but  expe- 
rience tells  us  how  very  poor  a  conception  we 
are  able  to  form  of  an  object,  even  from  the 
most  lucid  description,  unless  some  other  fami- 
liar one  is  presented  to  us  for  the  purpose  of 
comparison,  and  consequently  William's  idea 
of  a  large  town  was  such  as  would  be  laughed 
at  by  a  much  younger  child,  that  had  been 
accustomed  to  a  wider  field  of  observation. 

Convinced  that  he  had  viewed  the  subject 
on  all  sides,  and  given  it  mature  deliberation, 
the  young  adventurer  set  forth  one  clear  moon- 
light night,  after  having  crept  softly  out  of  the 
house,  taking  with  him  as  large  a  bundle  of  his 
clothes  as  he  thought  he  could  carry,  and 
eighteen  pence  in  money,  all  that  his  step- 
mother had  allowed  him  to  retain  of  a  present 
from  the  Lady  of  the  Bower  when  she  bade 
him  goodbye.  Full  of  hope  and  joyful  antici- 
pations he  travelled  across  the  barren  moor  he 
had  so  often  before  traversed,  when  seeking  for 


28  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

his  stray  sheep,  and  frequently  strengthening 
his  resolution  by  repeating  to  himself  that  He 
who  had  said,  "  Feed  my  lambs,"  would  not 
leave  him  perish.  But  forty  miles  is  a  long 
way  for  such  a  child  to  travel,  and  he  encoun- 
tered many  difficulties  that  his  inexperience 
had  never  taken  into  consideration.  His  small 
sum  of  money  was  of  course  soon  exhausted, 
his  feet  became  swollen  and  inflamed,  and  he 
was  often  obliged  to  lie  under  hedges  for  days 
together  before  he  could  again  put  them  to  the 
ground.  Besides,  the  season  was  too  early  for 
wild  fruit,  so  that,  when  no  longer  able  to  do 
without  food,  though  often  supplied  by  the 
hand  of  charity,  he  was  also  frequently  obliged 
to  part  with  articles  of  clothing  to  relieve  his 
urgent  necessities.  In  this  manner  the  few 
things  he  had  brought  with  him  soon  disap- 
peared, and  those  he  wore  became  so  much  in 
tatters  that  they  would  scarcely  hang  together, 
Still,  however,  the  noble  boy  kept  a  good  heart, 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  29 

and  cheered  his  lonely  way  with  the  ballads 
with  which  the  Scottish  borders  abound,  and 
which  his  sweet  voice  enabled  him  to  sino:  in 
no  mean  strain  of  melody.  But,  alas !  his 
young  frame  was  far  from  equal  to  the  energy 
of  his  mind,  and  as  he  began  to  draw  near  his 
journey's  end,  he  also  began  to  feel  that  it 
would  be  impossible  for  him  to  go  much  farther. 
As  soon  as  he  reached  Newcastle,  he  made  his 
way  with  all  the  speed  that  his  exhausted 
strength  would  allow,  to  the  wharf,  and  looked 
with  astonishment  and  admiration  at  the  forest 
of  masts  which  met  his  view.  He  had  never 
before  seen  a  ship,  and  he  felt  as  if  he  could 
never  tire  of  gazing  at  those  wondrous  plough- 
ers  of  the  mighty  ocean.  To  be  admitted  into 
one  of  them,  to  become  acquainted  with  its 
various  parts,  and  to  be  borne  by  it  to  some 
of  those  lands  of  novelty  and  wonder  on  which 
his  young  imagination  had  so  often  pondered, 
was  a  delight  almost  too  great  for  conception. 


30  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

The  weakness  and  exhaustion  produced  by- 
fatigue  and  want  of  food  soon  impelled  him  to 
apply  for  admittance  into  a  vessel  which  was 
announced,  by  a  sign  fastened  to  the  mast,  as 
loading  for  Cadiz.  This  was  far  from  where  he 
wished  to  go,  but  he  could  see  none  bound  for 
a  nearer  port,  and  he  flattered  himself  that  if 
he  could  get  to  Spain  he  would  soon  be  able  to 
reach  the  desired  point.  He  therefore  stepped 
on  board  of  the  vessel,  and  going  up  to  the  man 
who  appeared  highest  in  authority,  proffered 
his  request,  but  was  told  they  had  already  too 
much  lumber  such  as  he  on  board,  and  was  de- 
sired to  get  out  of  the  way.  Thus  repulsed,  he 
returned  to  the  wharf,  and  began  to  look 
amongst  the  other  vessels  for  the  next  most 
likely  one  to  take  him  to  the  wished-for  haven  ; 
but  in  one  after  another  he  received  the  same 
or  similar  answers,  till  at  last  fear,  for  the  first 
time,  taking  possession  of  his  young  heart,  he 
stood  gazing  around  him  but  almost  without 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  31 

a  consciousness  of  where  he  was,  or  what  was 
his  aim  or  object.  The  evening  was  beginning 
to  close  in,  and  the  noise  of  drays  and  carts  had 
almost  ceased,  and  poor  William  began  to  feel 
that  he  was  likely  soon  to  be  left  alone  in  this 
lately  crowded  mart,  which  had  a  short  time 
before  bewildered  him  with  its  bustle  and  con- 
fusion, whilst  his  exhausted  strength  almost 
led  him  to  believe  that  his  sufferings  would  be 
over  before  the  dawn  of  another  day.  He  saw 
a  gentleman  coming  in  the  direction  Avhere  he 
stood,  and  examined  his  countenance  with  great 
anxiety  ;  and  thinking  he  perceived  the  marks 
of  good  nature  in  his  open  countenance,  he  de- 
termined to  speak  to  him,  and  crave  protection 
for  the  night.  Before  the  gentleman  reached 
him,  however,  everything  began  to  swim  before 
his  sight,  then  a  cloud  seemed  to  come  over 
his  eyes,  and  the  next  moment  all  was  obli- 
vion. 

When  William  recovered  his  consciousness, 


32  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

he  found  himself  stretched  on  a  sofa  in  a  hand- 
some parlour,  for  the  gentleman  that  he  had 
observed  approaching,  had  seen  him  fall,  and 
taking  him  in  his  arms,  had  carried  him  into 
his  own  house,  which  was  near  at  hand.  The 
poor  boy  looked  wildly  round,  and  then  as  his 
recollection  returned,  he  raised  his  eyes  with 
an  enquiring  gaze  to  the  face  of  the  gentleman, 
who  was  standing  over  him  with  an  expression 
of  deep  concern,  whilst  a  lady,  whose  gentle 
countenance  evinced  her  sympathy,  was  apply- 
ing the  usual  means  for  his  recovery.  A  boy 
about  his  own  age  stood  near,  watching  him 
with  evident  anxiety,  and  a  sweet-looking  little 
girl,  a  few  years  younger,  held  a  tumbler  of 
water,  which,  as  soon  as  she  saw  signs  of  re- 
turning animation,  she  applied  to  the  poor 
boy's  mouth.  "  He  is  better  now,  papa,  don't 
you  think  he  is  ?"  she  whispered  gently.  "  He 
will  not  die,  will  he?" 

"No,    my  dear,  I   hope   not,"  replied   her 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  33 

father;  and  then  observing  that  William's 
consciousness  had  returned,  he  took  his  hand, 
and  in  a  tone  of  the  utmost  gentleness  said? 
"  What  was  it  that  made  you  faint,  my  little 
man  ?" 

In  a  voice  scarcely  articulate,  William  utter- 
ed the  word  "  Hunger  !" 

"  Hunger  !"  repeated  the  gentleman  in  sur- 
prise ;  "  why,  where  do  you  live  ?  How  far 
are  you  from  home  ?  You  have  no  appearance 
of  one  in  such  necessity  as  to  have  fainted  from 
hunger.  Tell  me,  where  is  your  home,  my  lit- 
tle boy?" 

"  I  have  no  home !"  replied  the  child  in  a 
weak  and  mournful  voice.  The  gentleman 
paused  and  eyed  the  pale,  emaciated,  but  high- 
ly interesting  object  that  lay  before  him,  as  if 
completely  at  a  loss  what  to  make  of  him.  We 
have  before  said  that  the  portion  of  William's 
clothes  that  he  had  been  able  to  retain  was 
very  much  torn,  but  though  in  a  dilapidated 
3 


34  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

state,  the  materials  of  which  they  were  com- 
posed were  of  such  a  kind  as  to  indicate  the 
wearer's  belonging  to  a  superior  class  of  society, 
for  the  Lady  of  the  Bower,  though  she  did  not 
think  it  right  to  loosen  the  ties  between  father 
and  son  by  taking  him  from  his  parent,  had  al- 
ways provided  his  clothing,  and  having  a  natu- 
ral pleasure  in  seeing  the  beautiful  boy  dressed 
in  a  becoming  manner,  she  had  furnished  his 
wardrobe  with  no  niggard  hand.  This  circum- 
cumstance  of  the  superior  texture  of  the  arti- 
cles of  which  his  dress  was  composed,  as  well 
as  the  air  of  finish  visible  in  the  making  of 
them,  so  ill  accorded  with  the  brief  account 
he  was  able  to  give  of  himself,  that  the  gentle- 
man's benevolence  was  at  fault,  and  he  stood 
considering  the  probabilities  of  the  case  till 
called  to  recollection  by  the  voice  of  his  wife. 
She,  with  the  true  compassion  of  a  woman's 
heart,  though  she,  like  her  husband,  suspected 
our  little  hero  to  have  left  a  wealthy  parent's 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  35 

house  from  some  motive  of  pet  or  folly,  and 
most  probably  to  have  plunged  a  whole  family 
in  anxiety  and  misery,  yet  saw  that  whatever 
he  might  have  inflicted  on  others,  he  was  then 
a  severe  sufferer  himself,  and  roused  her  hus- 
band from  his  reverie  by  saying,  "  You  forget, 
my  dear,  that  whilst  trying  to  satisfy  your 
curiosity  about  this  poor  boy's  situation,  his 
present  weakness  requires  immediate  help. 
He  must  have  something  to  give  him  more 
strength,  before  he  is  required  to  answer  any 
more  questions."  But  scarcely  had  she  uttered 
these  words,  when  her  little  daughter,  who  the 
moment  William  had  pronounced  the  word 
hunger,  had  left  the  room,  entered  it,  bringing 
a  large  plateful  of  meat,  pie,  bread  and  butter, 
and  every  variety  of  viands  she  could  meet 
with  in  the  pantry.  Poor  William  cast  a  long- 
ing look  at  the  food  as  she  approached  and 
offered  it  to  him ;  but,  laying  his  hand  on  her 
shoulder  her  father   exclaimed,  "  Stop,  stop, 


36  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

my  child,  or  you  will  kill  the  object  of  your 
benevolence  with  your  kindness.  This  poor 
little  boy's  stomach  is  in  too  relaxed  a  state  to 
receive  more  than  a  mouthful  or  two  of  solid 
food  at  a  time ;  and  that  must  be  the  lightest 
and  most  easily  digested."  He  then  took  the 
plate  from  the  hands  of  the  child,  around 
whose  neck  her  mother  threw  her  arm,  and 
pressed  her  toward  her  in  expression  of  fond 
approbation,  for  her  promptness  in  aiding  the 
sufferer.  After  receiving  a  small  quantity  of 
light  and  nutritive  food,  which  he  eagerly 
swallowed,  whilst  his  large  eyes  seemed  almost 
to  devour  the  very  plate  itself,  he  was  made 
to  swallow  a  few  drops  of  wine  and  water, 
which  gradually  brought  the  colour  to  his 
cheek,  and  gave  a  little  of  its  wonted  anima- 
tion to  his  almost  lifeless  countenance.  "  Now, 
my  little  boy,"  said  the  gentleman,  after  notic- 
ing with  pleasure  these  signs  of  returning 
strength,  and  feeling  as  he  viewed  the  interest- 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  37 

ing  and  beautiful  object  of  his  benevolence, 
the  deepest  sympathy  for  the  supposed  friends 
whom  he  had  forsaken,  "  you  are  strong  enough 
now  to  answer  a  few  questions,  and  I  want 
you  to  tell  me  where  your  relations  are,  that 
I  may  give  them  notice  of  your  safety." 

"  I  have  no  relations  that  care  for  me,"  re- 
plied William,  the  large  tears  starting  to  his 
eyes  as  he  spoke ;  "  I  have  only  one  friend  in 
the  world,  and  she  is  so  far  off,  that  I  am  afraid 
it  will  be  hard  for  me  to  get  to  her." 

"  Have  you  been  seeking  for  her  ?"  asked 
his  benevolent  friend. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  have  walked  all  the  way  from 
Alaston  Moor,  to  try  to  get  a  ship  to  take  me 
to  Lisbon  to  her." 

"  From  Alaston  Moor  !"  exclaimed  the  gen- 
tleman with  surprise.  "  Why,  my  little  fellow, 
that  is  my  native  place.  What  is  your  father's 
name,  for  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  I  know 
him."     The  tears  that  had  before  trembled  in 


38  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

William's  eyes  now  began  to  flow  rapidly  down 
his  cheeks,  as  he  spoke  of  the  sad  accident 
that  had  deprived  him  of  his  only  remaining 
parent,  (whom  his  host  remembered  perfectly,) 
and  of  the  unhappy  home  that  he  had  had 
from  the  time  of  his  father's  death. 

"  And  who  is  the  friend  that  you  expect  to 
find  in  Lisbon  ?"  asked  Mr.  Carville ;  for  it  is 
now  full  time  we  should  give  a  name  to  one 
so  well  worthy  of  distinction. 

"  The  Lady  of  the  Bower,"  answered  Wil- 
liam with  animation.  "  She  has  clothed  and 
educated  me  for  more  than  three  years  past, 
and  she  promised  me  that  if  she  did  not  return 
to  the  Bower,  I  should  go  to  her.  If  I  could 
but  get  to  Lisbon,  I  should  be  happy,  for  she 
is  the  best  and  kindest  of  friends." 

Mr.  Carville  made  no  reply,  but  a  deep  sigh 
escaped  his  bosom,  whilst  his  little  girl  whis- 
pered, "Wasn't  it  her  death  that  you  read 
about  in  the  paper  last  night,  papa?"     Her 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  39 

father  gave  her  a  nod  of  assent,  but  motioned 
to  her  not  to  speak  of  it  again,  for  he  was 
afraid,  in  William's  weak  state,  of  the  shock 
it  would  be  to  him  to  hear  of  the  loss  of  his 
noble  benefactress. 

Having  received  small  but  frequent  supplies 
of  food,  William  soon  became  strong  enough 
to  sit  up,  and  when  able  to  balance  himself 
once  more  upon  his  feet,  Mrs.  Carville  suggest- 
ed his  having  the  refreshment  of  a  good  wash- 
ing, on  which  her  son,  who  had  hitherto  stood 
by  a  silent  but  sympathising  observer  of  all 
that  passed,  proposed  taking  him  to  his  room, 
and  supplying  him  with  a  change  of  clothes, 
to  which  his  father  and  mother  both  readily 
assented.  William's  simple  narrative,  and  the 
unequivocal  marks  of  feeling  that  had  accom- 
panied it,  had  succeeded  in  gaining  their  entire 
confidence,  and  Mr.  Carville,  who  felt  that  he 
had  been  thrown  by  Providence  into  his  hands, 
to  supply  the  place  of  the  patroness  he  had 


40  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

lost,  determined  at  once  that  the  appeal  to  his 
humanity  should  not  be  made  in  vain. 

When  our  little  hero  again  appeared  in  the 
parlour,  it  would  be  difficult  to  say  which  of 
the  family  seemed  most  delighted  with  their 
new  guest,  for  though  fatigue  and  want  of  food 
had  made  considerable  encroachments  on  his 
strength,  he  had  been  too  much  accustomed  to 
hardships  to  let  them  weigh  heavily  on  his 
mind,  and  his  bright  intelligent  countenance 
beamed  with  joy  and  thankfulness.  A  few 
days,  with  good  food  and  kind  treatment, 
served  to  restore  our  little  hero's  exhausted 
frame,  and  as  his  bodily  powers  revived,  his 
active  disposition  recovered  its  wonted  energy, 
and  he  eagerly  gratified  his  inquiring  mind, 
by  an  examination  of  the  town,  which  ap- 
peared to  his  inexperienced  judgment,  of  mar- 
vellous extent  and  magnificence.  But  even 
the  view  of  so  many  new  and  wonderful  sights, 
failed  to  withdraw  his  thoughts  from  the  great 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  41 

object  of  his  journey,  and  lie  made  frequent 
inquiries  of  his  kind  host,  about  the  most  like- 
ly means  of  getting  to  Lisbon.  At  length, 
when  satisfied  he  was  strong  enough  to  bear 
the  shock,  that  gentleman  told  him  in  the 
kindest  and  tenderest  manner,  that  the  symp- 
toms of  consumption  which  had  alarmed  her 
physicians  before  she  left  the  Bower,  had  in- 
creased so  rapidly,  notwithstanding  her  remov- 
al to  a  milder  climate,  that  his  patroness  had 
expired  suddenly,  a  few  days  before  the  vessel, 
in  which  she  was  returning  home,  had  reached 
its  destined  port,  and  that  her  remains  had 
been  taken  to  her  native  place,  to  be  deposited 
in  the  family  vault.  "  Then  if  I  had  stayed 
at  home,"  exclaimed  the  sobbing  boy,  "  I 
might  at  least  have  seen  her  coffin ;  perhaps 
I  might  even  see  it  now,  if  I  were  to  go  back 
again."  Alarmed  lest  he  should  seriously 
think  of  putting  such  an  idea  into  execution, 
Mr.  Carville  took  every  pains  to  impress  upon 


42  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

his  mind  that  it  was  his  duty  in  everything  to 
prove  his  gratitude  to  his  patroness,  and  that 
he  could  only  do  this  by  making  it  his  con- 
stant study  to  be  a  good  and  useful  man,  and 
by  acting  at  all  times  in  such  a  manner  as  he 
felt  that  she  would  approve  of,  were  she  by  his 
side.  "And  remember,  my  good  boy,"  he 
continued,  "  that  though  you  are  separated 
from  her  for  a  time,  you  will  soon  meet  her 
again ;  and  only  think  how  much  you  will 
add  to  her  happiness,  as  well  as  serving  your 
own,  by  proving  that  she  was  the  means  of 
bringing  one  more  sheep  to  the  fold  of  the 
Saviour." 

The  loss  of  his  patroness  cast  a  dark  cloud 
for  a  considerable  time  over  the  mind  of  our 
hero ;  but  Mr.  Carville,  who  soon  discovered 
his  thirst  for  seeing  foreign  parts,  proposed 
his  going,  a  cabin-boy,  in  a  vessel  of  his  own 
which  was  about  to  sail  for  Boston ;  and  Wil- 
liam's  mind  was   gradually  drawn  from  the 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  43 

contemplation  of  his  misfortune  by  the  idea 
that  his  longing  desire  to  see  far-distant  re- 
gions was  about  to  be  gratified.  Herman  and 
Julia  Carville  would  gladly  have  persuaded 
their  father  to  keep  him  with  them,  till  he  was 
a  year  or  two  older ;  but  though  as  much  dis- 
posed to  admire  and  love  the  boy  as  them- 
selves, he  felt  that  he  would  not  be  acting  the 
part  of  a  friend  to  him,  by  keeping  him  in 
idleness.  Nor  were  their  wishes  at  all  second- 
ed by  William's  own,  for  though  grateful  for 
their  kindness,  and  returning  their  love  with 
all  the  warmth  of  his  ardent  spirit,  he  panted 
to  be  in  activity,  and  in  the  way  of  learning 
to  provide  for  himself.  Mr.  Carville  recom- 
mended him  to  the  especial  care  and  kindness 
of  the  captain,  who,  he  assured  William,  he 
knew  to  be  an  amiable  and  kind-hearted  man ; 
and  full  of  gratitude  to  his  friends  for  the 
affectionate  attention  he  received,  and  buoyant 
with  hope,  our  young  adventurer  set  sail  for 


44  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

those  distant  regions  of  which  he  had  often 
dreamt,  but  never  hoped  to  see.  Even  his 
passage  down  the  Tyne,  though  it  is  only  such 
a  stream  as  in  this  country  would  hardly  be 
thought  deserving  the  name  of  river,  was  to 
our  young  and  inexperienced  traveller,  an 
object  of  surprise  and  interest,  in  consequence 
of  the  numerous  vessels  that  were  passing  and 
repassing  on  its  waters ;  but  when  launched 
on  the  mighty  ocean,  nothing  could  exceed  his 
wonder  and  admiration,  till  an  overpowering 
sea-sickness  overcame  every  other  feeling,  and 
made  him  for  three  or  four  clays  unable  to 
raise  his  head  from  the  deck,  where  he  lay 
prostrate  and  almost  lifeless.  This  penalty, 
however,  upon  the  inexperienced  sailor,  at 
length  subsided,  and  William  was  again  able 
to  look  around,  and  admire  and  marvel  at  the 
wonderful  works  of  creation.  The  only  pas- 
sengers in  the  vessel  were  a  Mr.  Harper  and 
family,  consisting  of  his  wife  and  two  daugh- 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  45 

ters,  the  one  a  year  older  and  the  other  as 
much  younger,  than  our  little  cabin-hoy. 
Whilst  the  vessel  was  yet  in  the  river,  William 
had  gained  the  good  opinion  of  this  gentleman 
by  a  circumstance,  to  which  the  boy  himself 
had  attached  little  importance.  Mr.  Harper 
had  given  him  a  pair  of  trousers,  to  beat  and 
brush  for  him,  and  whilst  doing  so,  William 
heard  something  fall  on  the  deck  that  sounded 
like  money,  and  looking  carefully  around,  he 
found  it  to  be  a  sovereign.  The  boy  was  per- 
fectly alone  at  the  time,  and  could  as  easily 
have  retained  the  piece  of  money  as  not,  but 
though  he  was  acquainted  with  its  value,  and 
was  himself  entirely  void  of  every  species  of 
coin,  the  idea  of  appropriating  it  never  once 
entered  his  head.  As  soon  therefore  as  he  had 
finished  brushing  the  trousers,  he  took  them 
to  their  owner,  and  holding  out  the  piece  of 
money  at  the  same  time,  said,  with  as  much 
simplicity  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  course, 


46  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

"And  here  is  a  sovereign,  sir,  that  fell  out  of 
one  of  the  pockets." 

"  Indeed  !"  said  Mr.  Harper  with  surprise  ; 
"  I  was  not  aware  that  I  had  left  any  money 
in  the  pockets,  and  deserve  to  suffer  for  my 
carelessness,  whilst  you  have  a  right  to  a  re- 
ward, my  little  fellow,  for  your  honesty.  We 
will  therefore  share  this  sovereign  between 
us ;"  and  so  saying,  he  counted  out  ten  shil- 
lings, and  held  them  out  to  William. 

"  No  sir,  thank  you,"  said  our  hero ;  "  I 
have  no  right  to  the  money  ;  it  is  n't  mine." 

"  But  you  could  easily  have  kept  the  whole 
of  it,  if  you  had  chosen." 

"  There  is  not  much  merit  in  not  choosing 
to  be  a  thief,"  returned  William,  with  an  air 
of  dignity  that  astonished  his  companion,  and 
led  him  to  question  him  more  minutely  than 
he  had  hitherto  done,  respecting  his  history. 
The  simple  but  interesting  little  narrative 
that  the  boy  then  gave,  excited  feelings  of  the 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  47 

warmest  nature  in  the  whole  family,  for  they 
all  happened  to  be  assembled  together  at  the 
time ;  and  William,  who  had  before  gained 
their  good  opinion  by  his  beauty  and  pleasing 
manners,  now  became  an  object  of  heartfelt 
esteem  and  admiration.  From  that  time  Mrs. 
Harper,  who  had  before  studiously  guarded 
her  daughters  from  any  familiarity  with  the 
crew,  was  perfectly  willing  for  them  to  con- 
verse with  the  little  cabin-boy,  whenever  he 
was  at  leisure,  and  was  always  glad,  when 
William  was  at  liberty,  to  take  a  share  in  the 
information  that,  from  time  to  time,  their 
father  imparted  to  his  children  concerning  the 
natural  objects  by  which  they  were  surround- 
ed. We  wish  exceedingly,  that  our  limits 
would  permit  us  to  impart  some  of  those  won- 
derful and  highly  interesting  truths  to  our 
young  readers ;  but  as  that  is  not  the  case,  we 
rejoice  to  think  that  there  are  so  many  excel- 
lent works  on   natural   history  now  current, 


48  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

that  all  who  have  a  wish  for  it  may  easily 
become  acquainted  with  them ;  and  a  study 
more  calculated  to  enlarge  the  mind  and  im- 
prove the  heart,  they  certainly  could  not  well 
pursue.  In  the  hope,  therefore,  that  a  study 
of  the  works  of  nature  will  become  as  general 
as  it  is  useful  and  amusing,  we  will  continue 
our  narrative  of  the  little  sailor. 

Amongst  the  crew  was  a  boy  who  appeared 
to  be  about  sixteen  years  of  age,  that  was  the 
butt  of  the  whole  ship's  company.  He  was 
a  tall,  large-boned,  and  awkward  fellow,  with 
large  nose,  wide  mouth,  and  sandy  complexion. 
The  only  expression  visible  in  his  countenance 
was  a  degree  of  good-nature  amounting  almost 
to  imbecility,  and  it  was  difficult  to  tell  whe- 
ther the  quietness  with  which  he  bore  the 
gibes  and  jeers  of  his  companions,  arose  from 
not  caring  for,  or  not  understanding  them. 
That  the  latter,  however,  was  not  altogether 
the  case,  might  be  inferred  from  a  sort  of  dog- 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  49 

ged  obstinacy  that  he  would  occasionally  evince 
when  imposed  upon  by  orders  that  he  did  not 
think  he  had  any  right  to  obey.  This  not 
unfrequently  occurred  when  commanded  by 
the  mate,  a  dark,  morose,  and  tyrannical  man, 
who  was  only  rendered  tolerable  by  the  awe 
in  which  he  stood  of  the  captain.  It  is  scarce- 
ly necessary  to  say  that  William  never  took 
any  part  in  plaguing  poor  Anty,  as  he  was 
called,  but  on  the  contrary,  though  several 
years  his  junior,  he  assumed  that  power  which 
a  strong  mind  always  has  over  a  weak  one, 
and  persuaded  the  boy  to  treat  their  scoffs  and 
impositions  with  indifference,  at  the  same  time 
that  he  acted  the  part  of  a  protector,  and  fre- 
quently warded  off  the  intended  insults.  The 
consequence  was,  that  Anty  evinced  the  most 
devoted  attachment  to  our  hero,  and  on  many 
occasions,  with  the  kind  captain's  approbation, 
he  did  his  work  for  him,  and  left  him  at  liber- 
ty to  listen  to  Mr.  Harper's  conversation,  and 
4 


50  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

gain  an  increase  of  that  knowledge  for  which 
his  soul  so  ardently  panted. 

But  poor  William  seemed  destined  to  be  the 
butt  of  adverse  circumstances.  They  had 
only  been  nine  days  at  sea  when  the  worthy 
captain  began  to  sicken,  and  soon  discovered 
signs  of  an  alarming  fever.  From  the  first 
of  his  being  seized,  he  seemed  to  be  aware 
what  was  the  matter  with  him.  He  had,  only 
an  hour  or  two  before  he  sailed,  visited  a  par- 
ticular friend,  who  was  lying  on  the  point  of 
death  with  the  small-pox.  He  had,  imme- 
diately on  coming  away,  used  every  precaution 
that  prudence  could  suggest  to  avoid  taking 
the  dangerous  infection  ;  but,  notwithstanding 
all  his  care,  he  was  convinced  he  was  now 
about  to  become  a  victim  to  the  same  frightful 
scourge  of  humanity.  He,  therefore,  from  the 
first  would  scarcely  allow  any  one  to  come 
near  him,  and,  indeed,  all  seemed  equally 
willing  to  avoid  contact  with  the  loathsome 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  51 

disorder.  William  alone,  who  declared  that 
the  Lady  of  the  Bower  had  taken  care  to  have 
him  properly  vaccinated,  resisted  all  opposi- 
tion, and  persevered  in  his  attentions  to  the 
captain  until  death  closed  the  scene,  when  he 
had  the  pain  of  seeing  this  kind,  benevolent 
friend  committed  to  the  deep. 

This  melancholy  circumstance,  besides  de- 
priving the  boy  of  an  excellent  master,  had 
a  most  distressing  effect  in  other  respects ;  for 
the  mate,  who  in  every  particular  was  the 
opposite  of  his  deceased  captain,  now  of  course 
became  master  of  the  vessel,  and  lost  no  time 
in  exercising  his  authority  over  those  who  had 
not  the  power  of  resistance.  William,  who 
had  good  sense  enough  to  know  that  obedience 
and  submission  was  not  only  a  duty,  but  the 
best  policy,  both  acted  up  to  the  principle  him- 
self and  encouraged  Anty  to  do  the  same.  But 
it  was  not  easy  to  enlighten  that  poor  boy's 
weaker  judgment.     His  hatred  of  the  mate, 


52  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

who  had  so  often  and  so  cruelly  tyrannised 
over  him,  was  inveterate,  and  his  course  of 
conduct  in  consequence  was  little  short  of 
rebellion. 

One  day,  he  who  was  now  captain  had  exer- 
cised his  authority  in  various  ways,  in  the 
most  wanton  and  unauthorised  manner,  till  he 
had  goaded  and  irritated  the  boy  into  a  fit  of 
the  most  unyielding  stubbornness,  and  then, 
as  if  aware  of  the  effect  it  would  produce,  he 
ordered  him  to  go  and  wash  the  fore-deck  over 
again,  which  the  boy  had  finished  only  a  few 
minutes  before.  The  command,  as  he  doubt- 
less anticipated,  was  not  obeyed,  and,  on  being 
asked  if  he  did  not  intend  to  do  as  he  was  bid, 
Anty  gave  a  brief  '  No.'  Immediately  two  of 
the  men  were  ordered  to  strip  off  his  jacket 
and  shirt,  and  tie  him  to  one  of  the  masts, 
whilst  the  captain,  seizing  a  lash,  prepared  to 
exercise  it  on  the  bare  skin  of  the  culprit.  At 
this  moment  William,  who  had  been  perform- 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  53 

ing  some  of  his  duties  in  the  cabin,  came  on 
deck,  and  seeing  in  an  instant  what  was  going 
forward,  began  to  plead,  with  all  the  eloquence 
of  a  feeling  and  affectionate  heart,  for  the  con- 
demned criminal.  "  Oh,  pray  forgive  him  this 
time,"  he  exclaimed  with  energy,  "  and  I  am 
sure  he  will  soon  acknowledge  himself  sorry 
for  what  he  has  done,  and  will  be  good  and 
obedient  for  the  future." 

"  Keep  off  with  you,  and  let  me  have  none 
of  your  whining  noise,"  said  the  brutal  man ; 
"  lest  I  should  give  you  a  taste  of  the  same 
medicine  over  your  own  back." 

"  Well,  let  me  have  it  then,"  cried  the  gene- 
rous boy.  "  It  will  not  be  so  hard  to  bear  it 
myself,  as  to  see  him  suffer.  Or  tell  me  to  do 
anything  however  difficult,  and  I  will  do  it,  if 
you  will  only  let  him  go  without  his  punish- 
ment." 

"  Well,  then,  go  up  to  the  top-gallant  mast 
and    stay  there    two  hours,  and  your  bright 


54  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

favourite  shall  go  free,"  said  the  captain,  with 
a  brutal  laugh. 

Our  hero  did  not  stop  a  moment  to  reply, 
but  springing  to  the  ladder  began  immediately 
to  ascend,  and  as  his  small  hands  seized  the 
ropes,  and  with  one  foot  on  the  first  step,  he 
stood  for  an  instant  looking  around,  his  beau- 
tiful countenance  beaming  with  pleasure,  he 
presented  a  picture  that  any  painter  might  be 
glad  to  copy. 

All  eyes  were  eagerly  fixed  upon  the  adven- 
turous youth  as  he  ascended,  for  it  was  the 
first  time  he  had  ever  been  allowed  to  mount 
so  high.  There  was  besides  a  heavy  under- 
swell  in  the  sea,  (as  is  well  known  to  those 
who  have  ever  been  on  the  ocean  sometimes 
to  occur,  even  though  the  wind  is  perfectly 
calm,)  so  that  even  the  most  experienced 
seamen  found  it  difficult  to  balance  them- 
selves 

At  length  he  was  seen  to  reach  the  top,  and 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  55 

on  "  the  high  and  giddy  mast,"  is  preparing  to 
seat  himself,  when  a  sudden  swell  threw  the 
vessel  on  her  side  with  such  a  swing,  that 
either  William's  feeble  force  was  unequal  to 
contend  against  it,  or  his  brain  turned  dizzy, 
or  perhaps  both  these  things  combined,  for  he 
lost  his  hold,  and  the  next  moment  he  was 
seen  to  drop  into  the  ocean,  to  which  the  al- 
most horizontal  mast  had  already  borne  him 
very  near. 

With  the  rapidity  almost  of  lightning,  Anty, 
who  was  now  released  from  his  bondage, 
jumped  over  the  ship's  side,  and  being  a  good 
swimmer,  made  his  way  with  great  speed  to 
the  place  where  William  had  fallen.  But  an 
under-tow  kept  drawing  the  powerless  boy 
more  rapidly  away  than  Anty  was  able  to 
pursue,  so  that  the  boat  that  was  launched  had 
almost  overtaken  him,  before  he  could  seize  the 
object  of  his  solicitude,  now  a  lifeless  weight, 
and  hold   his  head  above   the  water.     They 


56  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

were  all  soon  once  more  on  the  deck,  on  which 
our  hero  was  laid  cold  and  inanimate. 

"  He  is  done  now,  with  all  his  heroism,"  said 
the  captain,  looking  at  the  lifeless  boy,  and 
uttering  such  a  laugh  as  the  hyena  gives  when 
rejoicing  over  its  prey. 

Anty,  who  stood  with  the  water  pouring 
from  his  rough  and  tangled  hair,  and  stream- 
ing down  his  bare  back,  cast  a  look  first  on 
William's  inanimate  form,  as  it  lay  extended 
at  his  feet,  and  then  at  the  savage  man,  which 
seemed  to  say,  the  hyena  itself  would  not  have 
more  delight  in  tearing  him  to  pieces  than  he 
would  experience,  if  such  retribution  were  in 
his  power. 

The  whole  transaction  had  been  of  too  ex- 
citing, too  agonizing  a  nature,  for  any  one  to 
think  of  giving  vent  to  exclamations.  The 
inmates  of  the  cabin,  therefore,  were  wholly 
unconscious  of  any  thing  extraordinary  hav- 
ing been   going   forward,  till  the  two  young 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  57 

Harpers  happening  to  come  on  the  deck,  be- 
held the  drenched  and  lifeless  body  of  their 
favourite,  stretched  near  the  companion-door, 
and  Anty  standing  by  his  side,  with  his  arms 
folded  and  his  countenance  wearing  an  expres- 
sion of  the  deepest  agony  and  despair.  Their 
loud  cries  soon  brought  their  parents  up  to 
inquire  the  cause.  The  scene  which  presented 
itself,  soon  told  its  own  tale.  "  Have  no  efforts 
been  made  to  revive  him  ?"  cried  Mr.  Harper, 
with  a  benevolent  impetuosity,  as  he  raised 
the  cold  and  beautiful  form  of  his  little  fa- 
vourite. 

"  It  would  be  lost  labour,"  replied  the  un- 
feeling captain ;  "  he  is  only  fit  food  for  the 
shark  that  he  has  been  watching  so  constantly 
for  the  last  two  or  three  days." 

"All  must  be  done,  however,  that  is  possi- 
ble," returned  the  passenger ;  "  so  noble  a  na- 
ture must  not  be  permitted  to  leave  us  so  soon 
if  we  can  help  it." 


58  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

So  saying,  he  took  the  inanimate  body  in 
his  arms,  and  carried  it  down  to  the  cabin, 
followed  by  his  amiable  wife  and  children, 
whilst  the  almost  equally  lifeless  Anty  follow- 
ed in  the  rear.  Every  means  that  could  be 
devised  were  made  use  of  to  recall  the  pure 
spirit  to  its  lovely  mansion.  For  a  long  time 
their  efforts  seemed  unavailing,  but  at  length 
signs  of  life  began  to  appear,  when  Mr.  Har- 
per was  obliged  to  send  both  Anty  and  his 
children  away,  lest  their  clamorous  rejoicing 
should  counteract  the  efforts  he  and  his  wife 
were  making. 

"  You  consigned  this  boy  to  the  shark,"  said 
Mr.  Harper  to  the  captain,  a  few  days  after 
William's  recovery,  "  and  I  rescued  him  from 
its  jaws.  I  think,  therefore,  that  I  am  now 
entitled  to  claim  him  as  my  property.  I  have 
no  son  of  my  own,  so  he  will  supply  the  defi- 
ciency, and  I  will  write  to  your  owner,  to  ex- 
plain the  whole  business." 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  59 

"  But  must  Anty  be  left  behind,  sir  ?"  asked 
William,  distressed  at  the  idea  of  the  poor 
boy  being  still  in  the  power  of  the  tyrant. 

"  I  understand  he  is  not  an  indentured  ser- 
vant, and  therefore  if  he  choose  to  leave  the 
vessel  he  may,  and  I  will  employ  him  in  my 
factory,"  replied  the  gentleman,  well  pleased 
to  see  William's  sympathy  for  the  uncouth 
boy. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say  that  Anty 
was  delighted  with  the  proposal,  and  the  sav- 
age captain,  who  now  began  to  be  afraid  of 
the  kind  of  report  that  was  likely  to  be  sent 
home  to  his  owner,  made  no  objection  to  the 
arrangement,  but  tried  to  pass  off  the  whole 
transaction,  by  which  our  hero  so  nearly  lost 
his  life,  as  a  mere  joke.  Mr.  Harper  heard 
what  he  said  without  making  any  reply,  but 
determined  as  he  did  so,  that  a  faithful  report 
of  hjs  brutal  behaviour  should  be  transmitted 
to  Mr.  Carville,  and  he  hoped  that  as  far,  at 


60  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

least,  as  that  gentleman's  power  extended,  the 
unfeeling  tyrant  would  never  have  another 
opportunity  of  exercising  his  malicious  dispo- 
sitions over  the  weak  and  helpless. 

Very  soon  after  his  arrival  in  Boston,  Mr. 
Harper  placed  his  young  protege  in  one  of 
those  seminaries  of  education  for  which  that 
city  is  distinguished,  where  William  applied 
himself  with  his  usual  ardour  and  industry  to 
the  business  of  self-improvement. 

"  It  is  almost  a  pity,"  said  his  patron  one 
day,  when  his  young  favourite  returned  home 
laden  with  school  honours,  "to  bestow  such 
an  education  on  a  mere  sailor;  I  hope,  my 
boy,  that  as  your  knowledge  increases,  your 
ambition  will  also  rise  above  such  a  call- 
ing." 

"  It  has  already  risen  above  that  of  a  mere 
sailor,  sir,"  answered  William,  with  modest 
and  graceful  dignity ;  "  for  I  am  anxious  to 
do  credit  to  the  many  generous  patrons  that 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  61 

have  one  after  another  come  to  my  aid  in  my 
necessities  ;  and  I  don't  know  any  calling  that 
is  more  likely  to  put  that  in  my  power  than 
the  one  I  have  chosen.  You  have  often  told 
me  that  some  of  the  most  distinguished  men 
in  the  country  were,  when  children,  actual 
foundlings,  and  you  know,  sir,  Columbus  him- 
self was  at  first  only  a  poor  sailor  boy." 

Many  years  have  elapsed  since  the  incidents 
(many  of  which  are  taken  from  real  life)  oc- 
curred, and  we  are  persuaded  it  will  be  grati- 
fying to  our  young  readers  to  hear  that  the 
flattering  promises  which  William's  early  years 
presented,  were  all  confirmed  and  strengthened 
as  he  advanced  in  age,  and  that  he  gradually 
became  a  very  useful  and  distinguished  mem- 
ber of  society.  Among  those  who  exulted  in 
having  been  instrumental  in  bringing  forth  so 
noble  a  character,  was  his  early  patron,  Mr. 
Carville.     The  profession  which  our  hero  had 


62  THE  YOUNG  SAILOR. 

chosen  gave  him  frequent  opportunities  of  see- 
ing and  cultivating  the  friendship  of  that  gen- 
tleman and  his  amiable  family ;  and  when 
recording,  with  justifiable  pride,  his  first  intro- 
duction to  the  interesting  boy,  Mr.  Carville 
never  failed  to  remark  that  this  bright  star, 
which  shone  so  conspicuously  in  both  hemi- 
spheres, first  rose  on  the  bleak  and  barren 
waste  of  his  own  native  Alaston  Moor.  Nor 
did  he  ever  fail  to  draw  an  important  moral 
from  the  circumstances  as  he  exultingiy  related 
them.  With  all  the  energy  of  a  warm  and 
glowing  heart  he  called  upon  his  hearers  to 
consider,  that  the  fact  of  a  young  boy  totally 
destitute  of  every  adventitious  recommenda- 
tion, having  become  so  distinguished,  offered 
a  strong  inducement  to  those  who  had  it  in 
their  power  to  aid  the  weak  and  friendless,  to 
do  so  with  their  utmost  might,  whilst  those 
who  required  such  aid  would  naturally  draw 
encouragement  from  William's  success  "  to  go 


THE  YOUNG  SAILOR.  63 

and  do  likewise."  Industry  and  virtue  can 
scarcely  fail  to  make  their  way  in  any  coun- 
try ;  but  in  this  free  and  prosperous  one,  the 
impediments  are  fewer  and  less  formidable ; 
and  the  road  is  open  to  all,  however  low  their 
commencement,  who  seek  to  gain  the  esteem 
and  confidence  of  their  fellow-beings  by  such 
means  as  those  which  distinguished  The  Young 
Sailor. 


THE     END. 


